Needed
by ThatGirlIsabel
Summary: Everybody has needs, whether they're entirely noble or not. Sounds dirtier than it is, check the rating!


Wrote this years ago for a challenge on livejournal (prompt was "an edge"), cleaned it up a little and here you have it. I've been bouncing back and forth between fandoms lately (loves me some Uncharted) but I've missed Firefly, these characters are such fun to write, especially Mal and Kaylee. Everybody belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and all that jazz.

* * *

He hated Simon.

Hated his smile, the way he poked one entirely-too-well-manicured finger into his hair while he spoke, and the way his cheeks puffed out on his _p_'s.

And most of all, he hated the way he looked when he saw Kaylee. He'd struggle with a hesitant smile that played at the corners of his mouth, and always slid his eyes down to hide it eventually. Come chow time, he stood when she neared the table and again when she left, only reclaiming his seat when she took hers or was gone. Always polite, the young doctor. And always managing to make the rest of the menfolk look like mannerless oafs.

He didn't figure it bothered Jayne much as it did him. 'Course, that graciousness stuff was never really Jayne's style. The big ox scarce looked away from his grub 'less Inara joined them, and even then it was only to leer and snort some disgusting comment. Man sure had a talent for bringing pinkness to a girl's face, and that was saying something considering her trade.

And Wash, hell. Damned if he noticed a gorram thing from man or woman while his wife was at the table.

That left Book. _Shepherd_ Book. And besides mediating between the hired gun and the doc when Jayne got in one of his more ornery moods, all's he was good for was spreading the word of his god, and that ain't worth much.

Jayne had been warned that Kaylee was off-limits to the likes of him before Mal had even allowed him to board. And far as he could tell the man had obeyed orders, eventually getting to where you'd think they was blood. It wasn't unusual to hear them tearing into each other like siblings, the crude big brother picking on his little sister. Kaylee gave as good as she got, though every so often one of Jayne's comments went too far and retaliation was lost on the girl.

It was then that she went to her captain for consolation. She'd come to him in his bunk or elsewhere, half-pouting with clenched fists, looking ready to either start sobbing or bean some poor sucker with her blowtorch. He was never any kind of opposed to talking her down, since it was harder to achieve a well-maintained ship if the mechanic weren't in some kind of good spirits. Not to mention that their talks grounded him somewhat. If all he ever thought about was fueling depots and whether or not rations were going to last another week whether anybody would get paid this month, he'd be crazier than— well, it ain't nice to go sayin' that kind of stuff.

Once or twice, he'd had to go to her to discover the source of her downcast eyes and burnt-out smile. Jayne's unattended mouth wasn't the root of all her problems, and it was the more complicated issues that found Mal sitting on the floor grate, speaking quietly through a locked door until Kaylee let him take her into his arms beside the thrumming heart of _Serenity_ to cry or yell or otherwise vent her frustrations and sorrows.

Some might say it's bad for crew morale to have to drop everything just 'cause the ship's mechanic is under the weather, but them that would ain't ever met Kaylee, and they damn sure never met Mal. It took an awful lot of hurt to cloud up the girl's sunny disposition, and it gave the captain one hell of a shiny feeling just knowing that he was powerful enough to set things right with her world. Nice to feel needed out here in the black where everything was cold and hard.

Didn't change his feelings towards the boy, though. He and Kaylee been consorting more'n doctor and mechanic got reason to, and Mal almost fears the two are getting on with each other a little too well. She ain't come to him in months complaining of hurtful words or anything else for that matter, and he hates the thought of being replaced when she needs someone to make her feel safe and loved. If he was a good man, he'd feel guilty for not wishing her and Simon a happy life together. For hoping he'll never have to tell Zoe, "she used to run to me." For hoping she'll always need someone to have faith in, and wanting for that someone to be him.

But he ain't been a good man for many years now, and that was fine with him. His history with Kaylee gave him kind of an edge that the doctor would never have, something that brought a smile to his face.

Now, Simon stood as the mechanic approached with a plate of barley-based dinner rolls. They smelt like horse feed and looked even worse, but they were damn tasty. Mal watched as Jayne grabbed a pawful before she could even set the food down.

"Aw, hell, doc," Jayne growled through the grain-scented steam that wafted about the galley, "That ain't no fancified upright miss you're poppin' up for all the time. It's just ol' Kaylee, she ain't nothin' special."

Kaylee's initial smile faltered; no doubt the comment had stung something fierce. But Mal didn't have to give the man a telling off— Inara started in on calling him things that made Book quirk his godly brow and say "oh, dear" before he had a chance to give a sanctimonious lecture on manners.

The scrape of wood on steel let it be known that Simon had resituated himself, evidently satisfied with Inara's reproach and Jayne's grudging insistence that he hadn't meant it in a bad way.

Mal wasn't. "Be glad we don't live in the olden days, Jayne, if we did I'd cut your tongue clean out for spreadin' lies and nonsense, sayin' our Kaylee ain't special," he said as he reached for a roll and had to fight River for the synthetic butter. When Kaylee took her seat in the vacant chair beside his own instead of next to the doc, it was all he could do not to shove a finger in Simon's face and shout a victorious, "_HA_!"

Her smile was back, but it had a forced quality to it, diluted by some distress not caused by careless words. He knew that look. "Cap'n?" she started in a small voice, but he spared her from having to say the rest.

"We'll talk after supper, _xiao mei-mei_," he told her quietly, patting her leg under the table and allowing himself to smile ever so slightly. It felt good to have the edge.


End file.
